Horribly Good
by CeruleanRoses
Summary: Chucky is on a quest to figure out how to kill a "Good Person". You know, those annoying heroes who always survive horror movies? He just needed a test subject to send into a few of our favorite horror movie franchises... He's regretting his choice to use Rose Q. McGee.
1. Dear Diary 1

**Prologue: Your Typical Good Girl**

* * *

Alright, let's get one thing straight, Diary. I never asked for this. I never asked to be "that girl". You know what I'm talking about. The typical "Good Girl", the girl with the plain clothes, plain face, smart brain, and dull-ish personality. I didn't one day wake up and say, "Hey! Today seems like a good day to be boring! Let's go for it! Woo!"

Nope, doesn't work that way. Maybe I should begin by telling you a little bit about myself. I'm Rose Marie McGee. I'm sixteen years old, dark hair, brown eyes, and normal physique. Nothing too spectacular, to be honest. I live with my family in a small, family-oriented neighborhood in a tiny house not fit for four people. It gets pretty cramped in here with my little sister constantly bringing over her cheerleading friends, my mom constantly bringing over weird guys, and my older brother's moody personality taking up the rest of the empty space in the house.

I've been leading a pretty normal life up until today. You know, school, home, part-time job, charity work; all of the typical things a "Good Girl" might do. I never thought I would make any waves. I've always been the kind of girl to lie under the radar. That's the way I like it. I don't like causing scenes. Unfortunately, all of that changed the day I received that giant, ugly doll. Crap, maybe I should scribble that last part out. Don't want _him_ seeing this.

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_**(A/N: Okay! CeruleanRoses here! This is an old story (and when I say old, I mean ancient and decrepit). I wrote it a long time ago with a friend, discovered it on my laptop and thought, hey, why not post it somewhere? I had a bunch of fun writing the story, so I hope you'll enjoy it! Yeah, there's an OC *insert boos here* but she's necessary! *holds up shield of protection* The idea of this story is pretty much how a normal girl, who is aware of her situation as a character in a horror movie, would try and survive. For anyone trying to picture how Rose looks, I picture KeKe Palmer. Rose will grow as a character as the story progresses. This is a crossover story with plenty of other horror movie icons that you'll recognize! Anyway, hope ya enjoyed! First chapter brings our favorite evil doll!)**_

_**Laters,**_

_**CR**_


	2. That Giant Ugly Doll

**1: That Giant, Ugly Doll**

* * *

"Hi! I'm Chucky! Wanna play?"

I stare at the giant, hideous doll in my hands, feeling absolutely horrified. His beady, blue eyes stare back expectantly. The scars running all over his face look nearly real, almost to the point that I want to reach out and touch them to see how they feel. But, I don't. They look pretty gross, honestly.

"Why did you buy me this?!" I scream at my brother, who is nearby laughing his head off. "You know I hate scary stuff like this!"

Arnold, my brother, is still busy laughing. _Haha-hehe._ It's so amusing that for my sixteenth birthday, my brother bought me a Chucky doll.

You know who Chucky is, right? That creepy doll from Child's Play? The one that killed people by cutting them apart and had that really creepy laugh? That's the one. Apparently, some guy on eBay makes them for a cheap price and Arnold thought it would be oh-so-hilarious if I received one for my birthday.

I'm not amused.

"Aw, it looks just like you," Arnold teases while rubbing the top of my head. "You guys can be twins."

I glance down apprehensively at the Chucky doll and pout. I do _not_ look like him. I don't even have red hair, for crying out loud! I huff and gently place the doll on my lap. Well, he may be hideous and disturbing and really, really scary-looking, but he's still a birthday gift. I'll hold onto him for a little while, at least until I find a nice, cozy fire to toss him into.

Mom claps her hands together, bringing the attention back to the rest of my gifts. She looks just about as enthused as she does for any of our birthdays: pretty much not. I know she loves us with all of her heart but I guess she wishes that we would have birthday parties with our friends instead of her all of the time. Sadly, I don't think I have enough friends for a birthday party. I'd be lucky to get two people here for my birthday who weren't over 60 and weren't related to me.

I open the rest of my gifts with glee. Oh yeah, I'm rackin' up, baby! I've got a new cell phone, a video camera, some new clothes, and a new diary. Mom knows how much I love to write, so this last one had to be from her.

"You still have one left!" my little sister, Macy, coos excitedly. I think she's more excited for my birthday than I am. Well, she's a cheerleader. Being perky is part of the job, I guess. Her brown bob bounces along with her jittery body.

I grab my present like a greedy panther handling fish and go to tear into it, but a cluck of Macy's tongue stops me. I groan and shoot her a playful glare. "What?" I ask.

"You should open it with Chucky!" she suggests. "He says he wants to play with you!"

I glance down at the giant doll that's resting peacefully in my lap. I look up and see Macy giving me her puppy-dog eyes, the ones she uses to get her way for any and everything.

I sigh and say, "Fine," before grabbing Chucky's tiny hands and bringing them towards my pretty package. "Let's open it together, okay?" I coo to Chucky like a person might talk to a kitten. I pretend to use Chucky's hands to unwrap the present. After a bit of a struggle, we manage to get the present open.

I hold up my present and blink at it. "It's a…pocket knife," I announce. I'm not displeased with the gift, but I am a little shocked. Mom is always so against us carrying around weapons. I give her a wary smile. "Erm. Cool. Thanks, Mom."

Mom looks confused. "I didn't get you that," she admits. "You know how I feel about weapons."

I glance at my siblings but they both shake their heads. Neither of them bought it for me, either.

"Huh," I grunt while I twirl the blade around with my fingers. "I guess maybe Dad sent it." We all shrug dismissively before we start digging into my ice cream cake. Yum, it's awesome! It's one of those Blizzard cakes from Dairy Queen, the one with the brownie pieces in the bottom. We sit around the table, talking and laughing about whatever came to mind. I know it's not a Sweet Sixteen fit for MTV but it's perfect for me. I love my family and I wouldn't want to share my birthday with anyone else.

One thing really sucks, though. Having a birthday on a Sunday. I still have to go to bed early tonight since school is tomorrow. Whelp, it's not like I had any big, exciting plans for tonight anyway, right? Hahaha…

Ha.

-000-

I bury my face in my pillow and breathe in its floral scent. Why does this always happen? I always have a great time hanging out with the fam for my birthday, always. But it never fails. I always start thinking about what the other girls my age do for their birthdays.

Especially Bethany Glimmer. Even her name sounds annoying, right? Well, she's the most popular girl in Springdale High School, complete with her own posse of Mean Girls, you know the drill-she's a bad teen movie cliche come to life. She's like my complete opposite. She goes to parties; I stay home and read. She has numerous boyfriends every week; I've had about three in my entire life and I didn't really like any of them.

Needless to say, sometimes I wonder how my life would be if I were in her shoes. Would I be out celebrating with friends on my birthday instead of curling up in bed and smelling my pillow?

Probably so.

I sigh and cast a glance at Chucky, who I have allowed to sit upon my nightstand. Gosh, he's creepy-looking. I reach out my hand and tap his nose with my finger. His nose is soft and smooth, almost like human flesh.

"Wow, you're really…" I pause to yawn as my eyes start to droop close. "Really big…and ugly."

My eyes have just closed when I hear someone say, "You're so dead."

My eyes are open in 0.35 seconds and I'm sitting straight up in bed. I look around the room, searching for the source of the voice. I glance down at my phone and realize that I still have my music playing. That's probably what I heard; the music still coming from the earphones. I turn my phone off and settle back into bed. I hold my pillow like a person and bury my face into it. What kind of shampoo do I use? It smells so good…. Like food...

"Do you wanna play, Rose?"

I sit up again, poised like a snake ready to strike.

"Who's there?" I ask the silent room. Of course, no one answers. I'm a little paranoid now. That voice sounded strangely like the mechanical voice that comes out of Chucky. When I turn around to grab him from the nightstand, a scream bubbles out of my throat.

He's gone.

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(**A/N: What would be your next move? Mine-probably hide under my covers lol**

**Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'll be posting the other immediately just 'cause! :)**

**Bye-byez,**

**CR)**


	3. Survival Instinct

**2: Survival Instinct**

* * *

Whelp, time to leave the house.

I've seen enough horror movies in my lifetime to know that when the killer mysteriously disappears in your house, you do not:

**1\. Run around the house like an idiot, armed with only a flashlight.**

**2\. Call the useless police, 'cause they sure as heck won't be bringing back-up.**

**3\. Try to hide. You're most likely going to hide in the same place the killer is hiding.**

Nope, none of the above choices will allow me to keep my life for long. I've got to get everyone out of this house and burn this place _down_. Drastic? Yes. Effective? _Heck_ yes.

Right after I get done cursing my brother for buying me the stupid doll, I get up and race to my closet, where I keep Macy's old golf clubs. She used to be interested in golfing but quickly lost interest when she realized golf is really as boring as it looks like on TV.

I still can't believe this is happening. My brain doesn't even want to register this as real. Right now, though, I'm not really thinking straight. All I know is if that little doll tries to hurt my family, I will definitely be yelling "FORE" as I swat his little evil, plastic head across the living room.

"Hey, Arnold, Macy, Mom!" I yell while running down the hallway towards their rooms. "There's something going—"

I stop mid-sentence when I see my Chucky doll seated at the end of the hallway. His eyes are as glassy as any doll's. He's not moving. The only thing that alerts me that something is wrong is that he's clutching my birthday knife in his hand.

I take a few steps back, but keep the golf club in my hand. I point it at him. "I-I know what you are, Chucky," I warn him. "Don't try anything funny or I will swing this club directly at your head."

A laugh creepier than any I've ever heard emits down the hallway. Shivers run up and down my spine when Chucky pulls himself up into a standing position. His face twists into a deadly grin.

"You're too funny, doll," he says. He begins walking towards me, swinging the knife like it's a cane and he's a fancy nineteenth century gentleman. "Look at you. You couldn't hurt a fly—"

Chucky's taunts quickly morph into a scream as I swing the club at him and send his small body flying down the hallway. He smacks against the wall and falls to the ground with a thud. He remains still.

I gasp and cover my mouth. Ohmigoodness, I can't believe I actually just did that! It was almost like a reflex…. An _awesome_ reflex!

I pause in my elated fist pumping when I hear groans coming from Chucky, My eyes widen in horror as he pulls himself back up. He truly looks ticked now.

"You f***ing B***," he growls. He lifts the knife and starts charging towards me, screaming like a demented frog…whatever those sound like.

I mimic his scream before turning around and making a beeline for the kitchen. Chucky is literally right on my heels. His twisted laugh is echoing in my ears, tempting me to scream again. I'm literally about to have a heart attack. My heart is pounding against my chest like a beating drum, my vision is growing dark, and I can barely breathe.

I need to find another weapon, quick, quick…

My eyes land on a convenient katana that my Mom placed above the TV in the living room. I dive for it. A grin finds its way on my face when my fingers latch onto its hilt. I spin around and point the blade right at Chucky, who freezes in place. He slowly lowers his knife and fixes me with an angry glare.

"Are you seriously pointing a Japanese sword at my face?" he asks.

"Yes," I say. I cast a doubtful glance at the katana and twist it in my hands so that it's pointing the right way. I nod. "Yes, I am. And unless you want it going through your _face_, you are going to pack your little dolly bags and get out of my house."

"Fine, doll. You win, you win." I'm surprised when Chucky raises his hands in a show of defeat. Is he really going to give up on killing me, just like that? His eyes take on that wide, innocent look they had before I knew that he was a talking, killing machine. "I just gotta ask you one question. If you answer right, I'll be on my way, okay? No need to stab anyone."

"Question? What would Chucky have to ask me?" I ask.

Chucky quirks one red eyebrow at me. "Are you a Good Girl?"

* * *

(**A/N: A golf club and katana, all in one chapter! xD **

**What's going happen next to Rose? She's gonna meet the man of her dreams! (Or nightmares. You'll see.))**

**Peace!**

**CR**


	4. The Good Girls

**3: The Good Girls**

* * *

"Excuse me?" I ask, still not moving the blade from the tip of his nose.

"Are you freakin' deaf?" Chucky asks. He tries again, sounding a bit more patient this time. "Good Girl. Are you one of 'em or not?"

My brows knit with confusion. "Um… I guess so? I mean, sometimes I skip out on my homework when I'm feeling lazy, but who doesn't?"

Chucky facepalms and drags his hand down his scarred face. He holds out both of his hands with his palms facing me and starts talking really, _really_ slow. "Okay. Let's try this, then. Do you hate your family or feel like they don't understand you?"

"Uh, no," I answer honestly. "I love my family."

Chucky looks confused for a moment but continues on. "Alright, then. What about a boyfriend? You've gotta have one of them, right?"

"No." I pause to give him a weird look. I edge away from him. "And I'm not looking for one, either."

"What? You don't even have a boyfriend?" Chucky nearly yells.

"No! So what? Not every sixteen year old girl has a boyfriend!" I yell back.

"Good Girls do! Or at least some typical nice guy that really likes them. You got one of those?"

"Not that I know of…. Unless you know something that I don't?"

Chucky throws his hands up and unleashes a string of curse words that make me blush. Dude has serious anger issues.

He turns away and begins pacing back and forth. My eyes tick back and forth, watching his little tirade. He looks like a kid that can't go into the candy store.

"No boyfriend, no familial problems, plus—you fight like a sumo wrestler!" he cries. "You can't be one of the Good Girls!"

I lower my sword a bit, realizing that Chucky doesn't seem intent on killing me anymore. If anything, he seems like he's about to have a mental breakdown. He's pulling at his red hair like a madman and cursing at the floor.

"Okay, I'm going to ignore that sumo wrestler comment, but I want to know what the heck you're talking about," I command. "You keep saying Good Girls like it's an organization or something."

Chucky looks up at me. He seems to be bouncing back and forth between telling me everything or just running from the house, screaming. Thankfully, he decides to talk and alleviate my curiosity. "You're familiar with horror movies, right?" he asks with a twirl of his knife.

"The older ones, yes," I agree with a nod.

"Good. Well, maybe you've noticed a pattern. Usually, at the end of our movies, the bad guy gets killed and the silly hero or heroine somehow miraculously survives. Have you noticed a pattern in these survivors?"

I scratch my chin with my free hand. "From what I remember, the smart brunette usually survives."

"Bingo!" Chucky says. He looks happy that I'm finally getting with the program. "We call those typical survivors 'Good Girls' or 'Guys' if they happen to be a dude." A dark look crosses over Chucky's face but it's gone in a flash. His blue eyes look up at me. "I was looking for one of them."

I guffaw. "And you thought that I was one of them? Do I look like one of those girls to you?" I ask incredulously.

Chucky studies me and grunts. "Huh. You're right. I haven't heard of a movie yet where the black person survives until the very end."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Me either. Racist killers." I growl.

Chucky scratches his head and sighs. "I don't get it. He said that a Good Girl was living here but you're obviously not one. You don't even have any secret powers, do you? You know, like telepathic abilities or any of that s***?"

I fling my fingers outward, expecting to see a flash of light or something magical fly from them. Nothing happens. I shake my head, feeling just a tad bit disappointed.

"Nope," I admit. "I'm sorry."

"Well, this is just freakin' great," Chucky groans. "I wasted all of that money on shipping and handling and for what? Some girl who celebrates her birthday with her family like a two year old?"

My face burns with embarrassment at his words. So what if I celebrate with my family? They're the ones who were there during my birth! My friends certainly did not push me out of any wombs, that's for sure!

I march over to my front door and point at it. "Well, _doll_," I say, mimicking his infuriating nickname for me, "As much as it pains me to say this, I guess it's time for you to hit the road. I've really enjoyed having you come in here, try to kill me, talk about my family, _and_ ruin my birthday, but it's time we part ways." I open the door and gesture outside with a grand sweep of my hands. "Au revoir!"

It's time to go to sleep and pretend like tonight was one big, horrible nightmare. Heck, for all I know, it probably is. Chucky is a fictional character from a movie. There's no way he'd be in my house, spouting nonsense about "Good Girls" and sumo wrestlers.

…..Jerk.

I wait to hear Chucky's tiny footsteps heading out of my door, but I hear nothing. When I look up at him, I find him staring at the doorway like he's just saw a ghost. "What?" I ask, growing irritated. When Chucky doesn't answer, I turn to the doorway to find out myself. I blink once. Twice. Thrice. Whatever comes after that.

Standing in my doorway, dressed in his famous striped sweater and black hat, is my worst nightmare.

Freddy Krueger waves his knives at me and grins a sick grin. "Good evening," he says. That's it. Two words, formal and normal, yet they're enough to stop my poor, little heart.

I promptly pass out.

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(**A/N: Hah, I'm having fun going back through this story! Hope you're enjoying the story as well! Feel free to leave me some feedback, be it positive or negative! I'm just interested in hearing what others hear of the story! :) Sorry the chapters are so short...I have no idea why I wrote them this way lol..**

**See yaaa,**

**CR)**


	5. Worst Nightmare Ever

**4: Worst. Nightmare. Ever.**

I wake up in a cold sweat. I sit straight up in bed, like a launched missile, and grasp at my heart. It's beating out of control. I take a couple of deep breaths, hoping to calm myself down.

It was only a dream. A terrible, horrifying dream that's made my entire body drenched with sweat. My hands are shaking so badly that I'm afraid they'll fall off of my wrists. Never in my life have I ever had a nightmare that real. I felt terrified for my life, especially when I saw Freddy Krueger standing outside of my front door.

That dude literally scares me half to death. I've been terrified of him ever since the first time I watched one of his movies. Arnold had wanted me to watch "the coolest movie ever" about a "nice man in a Christmas sweater".

He lied. He _lied_.

I couldn't sleep in my own bed for nearly two weeks after that.

Someone who can sneak into your dreams and kill you there… That's scary. I shiver at the thought. I wrap my thin arms around myself in an attempt to get warm. When that doesn't work, I reach down to grab my covers so that I can tuck myself in and go back to sleep. I just want to forget all about that crazy dream.

My heart stops when I go to grab for the covers and find my hand touching something wet. I make an "ick" noise and pull my hand away only to find it covered in blood.

An earsplitting screech pours out of my mouth when I look down and find that the bed I'm lying in is completely soaked in blood. I look around the room and begin to whimper when I see that I'm no longer in my bedroom but in a room stained with dark, red blood. My scream continues as I look around and find recognizable human limbs scattered around the room.

Where am I? This has to be a dream, one of those weird dreams where you think you wake up, but you actually haven't woke up, you just think you've woken up, but you've really only woken up in your dream.

Now I'm just confusing myself.

"Wakey, wakey…" a scratchy voice echoes around the room. I glance around wildly, searching for the source of the voice. There's no one in the room besides me.

Suddenly, the room begins to shake. I grab at the sides of the bed to keep myself from being slung to the ground. The bed rocks around, its four feet bouncing off of the ground.

Deep, throaty laughter sounds from across the room. I'm too terrified to even look over and see who it is. I scream and dive under the bloody covers, stupidly thinking that they will provide an awesome shield from the nightmare around me.

I hear footsteps getting closer to me. They stop right beside the bed. I curl up into a ball and whimper. "A dream, a dream!" I sing quietly. "Wake up, Rose! Wake up…!"

My half-insane rambling is cut short when four blades slice through the covers, right in front of my face. I scream at the top of my lungs and scramble backwards, trying to escape the knives. A ripping sound behind me lets me know that four more blades have cut through the sheets behind me. I'm wailing like a firetruck by this time. Okay, I think I've given up on this being a dream. This is reality and I believe that I am about to either be sliced to bits or pass out again. I hope I can do the latter first.

Suddenly, Freddy Krueger's face tears through the covers, right above my own face. He cackles when I begin screaming and cover my face.

His laughter is low and scratchy, just like his terrible voice. "Rose," he coos. "Rose, do you know who I am?"

I'm too busy crying and screaming to answer him with an intelligible answer. I can feel his hot, stale breath against my trembling fingers and it's taking all of my strength not to get up and try to run. He seems to be in the talking mood and I'm sure if I get up screaming and dashing around like a chicken with its head cut off, that mood will vanish.

"Listen, you're gonna answer me or I'm going to start slicing fingers," Freddy threatens.

I try to peek at him from between my fingers but I'm too afraid. I simply part my hands from over my mouth and say, "Y-Yes," then cover it again.

"You know who I am?" Freddy asks again, seeming a bit surprised. He shouldn't be. Why else would I be reacting like this? I don't usually greet the Easter Bunny with wails of terror.

I swallow and nod again, still shaking like a big maraca. "Y-Yes. You're Freddy Krueger."

There's silence for a moment before Freddy lets out a dark laugh. "Good," he hisses. "That explains why you look like you're about to piss yourself."

Darn it. Why did he have to say that? Now I really have to pee. I cross my legs and continue praying that I will somehow survive this meeting. "Wh-What do you want from me?" I manage to ask.

I hear slicing noises and more footsteps but no answer. After a few more moments of silence, I gather up my courage and look out at the room. Freddy is leaning against the wall, watching me with an acidic smile on his face.

Ugh, that face. Its flesh is charred and molten into a Halloween mask of horror. Rotting holes dot the surface of his face like craters on the moon. Seeing him is enough to make me dry heave as I recall his movies in which he killed each of his victims in terrifying and gruesome ways. I really don't want to end up like that.

Freddy notices me studying him and his smile grows. He pushes away from the wall and flexes one of his bladed hands. "You scared, Rosey-gal?" he taunts. "Don't be. I'm not going to hurt you…" He pauses briefly. "Yet."

Ha, like I'd believe that. I'm in some bloody bedroom alone with Freddy Krueger and his knives. I don't see much of an alternative when it comes to my fate. But, I don't say a word aloud. My mouth is frozen shut in fear of saying something that will trigger his bloodlust.

I'm seriously afraid of this guy, everyone. Chucky is terrifying in his own right, but I could handle him. Let's face it: he's a walking doll. Scary, but manageable. Plus, he was in the vicinity of my family when he attacked. He wasn't going to hurt one of them on my watch.

But here, I'm alone with one of the guys whose very name makes me cringe. And I don't even have my golf club.

Freddy walks over to me. I cringe as one of his blades flicks out and finds the sensitive skin of my throat. It scratches upwards, forcing me to lift my head up. He tilts my head from side to side, studying my face with all the precision of a doctor. I gulp and try to look brave, but I'm seriously failing. I probably look like a big, shivering gerbil.

"Chucky wasn't lying," Freddy mumbles, mostly to himself. "You sure as heck don't look like a Good Girl."

There was that term again—"Good Girl". Is that why Freddy brought me here? Because he thought I was one of those stupid Good Girls?

Suddenly, I'm too angry to be afraid. My mouth flies open before I have the chance to weigh the chances of having my tongue pulled out. "Listen, I don't know why you people keep calling me that! I'm not a Good Girl. I most likely won't survive this encounter like a Good Girl." I start listing off reasons I'm not a Good Girl, using my fingers to keep count. "I'm not dating anyone like a Good Girl. I don't have any sweet guys knocking at my door like a Good Girl. I definitely do _not_ have any magical powers and do I look like the kind of girl who usually survives 'til the end of a horror movie? No, I do not! And another thing…"

All of my sassiness seeps out of me when Freddy's blade digs a bit deeper against my throat. I shut my mouth.

"Quiet, lemme think," he growls. I pretend to zip my lips and throw away the key. He's looking away from my face now, lost in thought.

"My visions are never wrong," I hear him grumbling. "But she's right. She looks absolutely nothing like a Good Girl." I watch in amazement when Freddy snaps his fingers and rows of brunettes with pretty, determined faces appear in the air. I gawk at the floating images of them.

"See!" I exclaim. "I'm nothing like them!"

Freddy's eyes snap away from the images of the Good Girls to glare at me. "B****, didn't I say to be quiet?!" His blade nips at my tender skin.

"Yup. Sorry," I squeak.

"Like I said," Freddy growls. "My visions are never wrong. You are a Good Girl. Even if you don't seem to act or look like one…" The longer that his eyes stay on me, the more uncomfortable I get. Freddy seems to notice this. Something shifts in his eyes then. A wry smile replaces his brooding frown.

His blade crawls down my throat, past my collarbone, and comes to rest right where my cleavage begins. His eyes gleam. "My, what lovely eyes you have," he croons.

My eyes bounce from Freddy's lascivious smile to his blade. I give a nervous laugh. "Heh. Well, my eyes are kinda up heeere," I remind him while indicating just where my eyes were. They were definitely not down _there_.

Freddy doesn't seem to care. Without warning, his gloved hands wrap around my wrists. He pushes me backwards onto the bed and pins me there. I'm so shocked I can do little more than stare at him.

"If you're not a Good Girl, then you must be the opposite of one." Freddy runs his rotting tongue over his lips and grins.

I struggle against his powerful grip. "N-No, I-I'm definitely not one of those!" I promise him. A scream gets stuck in my throat when I see those rotting lips coming towards my throat. Oh, ew! My panicking kicks up another notch. "Ahhh! Get off of me! Get off!"

Freddy seems amused by my sudden outburst of energy. His prickly lips are just centimeters from my throat now and I feel like I'm going to scream, puke, and faint, all at the same time. Maybe that would turn him off. Nothing turns down the libido like vomit spraying across your face.

"Calm down, Rosey-gal," Freddy growls. "This is much better than being killed, right?"

I want to cry when I feel his hot breath against my throat's sensitive skin. Okay, this isn't what I was expecting to happen to me. I didn't want to be killed, but this might be even worse than death.

When Freddy's gross lips clamp down on my throat like a bear trap, I decide to act. Okay, I might be swiftly murdered after this, but I'm not going to get violated by some charred freak in a Christmas sweater. No way, Jose.

"Get the heck off of me!" I scream. I roll off of the bed, taking a shocked Freddy with me. We hit the floor in a tangled heap. I manage to pull away from him and run to the door. I pat down my Hello Kitty pajamas, hoping that I would have a weapon of sort in there. The answer, I realize quickly, is no, I do not. Not unless I want to take off my bra and strangle him with it.

Freddy has climbed off of the ground and is headed towards me now. His face is livid and I'm certain that I just ruined my last chance of survival.

"You just ruined your last chance of survival," Freddy says, confirming my thoughts.

I slam my back against the door as Freddy advances. My hand fumbles for the doorknob. I find it and give it a good twist. It's locked. Why am I not surprised? My life has turned into one big scary movie; I should be expecting horror movie clichés by this time.

My time for escaping is up. Freddy lifts his bladed hand and prepares to drive the knives into my head. I cover my eyes and scream. I wait for the pain, for the agony, for the dramatics…

Nothing happens. I force myself to peek out of the crevices between my fingers and find Freddy grinning down at me. It's not a lusty grin and it's not murderous, either.

It's pleased.

"Well, well, well," he sings. His dark eyes swim with glee from underneath the rim of his hat. "Look who's a Good Girl after all."


	6. Not Your Typical Good Girl

**5: Not Your Typical Good Girl**

* * *

"...What?"

I'm still seated on the ground, peeking at Freddy through my fingers.

Freddy gives me a blank look. "You can uncover your face now," he assures me.

I huff. "So you can attack my neck again, you pervert?"

Freddy goes to say something, but is interrupted when someone swings open the door that I'm leaning against. I fall backwards and hit my head against the hard floor. I wince and grab at my throbbing head.

"The heck's all that noise?" someone asks.

Wait. I know that voice. I look up and find Chucky staring down at me, looking none too pleased. I scream and scramble away from him, back towards the bed. Chucky rolls his glassy eyes at me before turning his attention to Freddy.

"What did I tell you? She's not a good girl," Chucky declares. "Now can we forget all this 'Good Guy' mumbo jumbo crap and just kill her? She's soooo annoyin'."

I glare at him. I so wish I had a golf club right now. Both him and Freddy would be going down and I would be out of this nightmarish...world...place... Where am I? I don't even know where I've woken up. It looks like I'm in a normal bedroom, despite all of the blood, but something's not right. The edges of the leaking walls seem to shimmer and glow sometime, like they're keeping something from exploding into the room.

"She _is_ a Good Girl, Barbie-boy," Freddy says with a proud smile, breaking me out of my observations. He flexes his bladed hand and grins at me. "We forgot one of the most important traits of being a Good Girl. She's a _virgin_."

Chucky's eyes grow wide. "I knew I was forgetting something!" He narrows his beady eyes and gives Freddy a speculative look paired with a smirk. "How'd you find that out?"

I blush when Freddy's eyes crawl over my curled up form. He smirks. "I know one when I see one. But, you wouldn't know anything about that kind of stuff, Barbie-boy."

If Chucky was a cartoon, his ears would probably be spouting steam right about now. His hands wrap around my birthday knife and his face twists into an angry scowl. "Hey! I was a man before I turned into this stupid doll! I know all about it." He swings his blade in my direction. "Plus, you don't need freakin' rocket science to figure it out. Look at her! She's wearing pajamas with freakin' Hello Kitty on them! She was celebrating her birthday with her family like a—"

"Hey!" I cry angrily. "As much as I've enjoyed listening to both of you speculate about my 'sexual status' and then criticizing me about it, like that's _really _something to criticize a _teenager _about, I really want to know what's going on here. _Now_."

My sudden burst of courage surprises us all. Really, at this point, I'm tired. I'm just ready for something to happen, one way or another. If I have to stay in limbo, wondering if I'm going to be killed or not for one more second, I think I'm gonna burst.

"Watch how you talk to me, woman," Freddy warns, while taking a threatening step in my direction. When I falter and scoot away, he laughs. "You wanna know what's going on? Listen good."

He lifts one finger. "You're going to help us with a little something."


	7. Dreaming?

**CH.6 - Dreaming?**

**(Thanks for the feedback! Since the last chapter was so short, I decided to go ahead and post the next chapter! Enjoy!)**

* * *

I'm not sure which is more shocking: the fact the Chucky the evil doll and Freddy Krueger are asking for my help or the fact that I'm still alive at this point.

"Why would you two need my help?" I ask.

"Keep up with the freaking program, sweetheart," Chucky says. "We know you're a Good Girl now—the kinda chick that would survive one of our movies."

"That's pretty unbelievable," I note. "I've had this conversation with my friends before. We asked ourselves… 'how far do you think we'd survive in a horror movie?' And I'd always say not long because, let's face it, if the token black person doesn't die first in the movie, it's the perky blonde chick. Which would make my friend Beverly Hillshire next in line and—"

"Do you want to die?" Freddy snaps. Gosh, he's volatile. Still, I manage to shake my head and slam my mouth shut. Maybe the relief that these two might not kill me is going to my head and making me zany.

"Good. Now listen up, Rosey-gal," Freddy begins while popping his knuckles. "We're all tired of you Good Girls and Guys surviving our movies. It's getting old."

"Older than Jason and his countless sequels," Chucky adds.

"Exactly," Freddy agrees. "Now, we've tried our hardest to squish you annoying brats under our boots, but you're like freakin' roaches—you won't die. We need to figure out how to destroy one of you."

I remain silent. There's no need to inform them that I'm right here in front of them, a prone target. I clear my throat and shrug. "Have you ever actually sat down and watched one of your movies?"

Chucky grimaced. "Why the heck would we do that? Isn't it more fun to just go out there and keep killing?"

"Well…," I drag the word out. "Maybe if you did you would see what errors you made along the way."

Freddy scratches his chin. "Maybe you're right. But that doesn't solve our problem. You brats are smart. You change it up every movie like a creature that won't die."

I raise an eyebrow. These two were ones to talk. Like they didn't keep coming back after every movie. Heck, what were they on? Their seventh movie? Explosions and semi-trucks weren't enough to get rid of these two.

I shrug. "Well, I still don't know what you want me to do."

"Easy," Chucky states. "Just show us how to do it. How to get rid of a Good Person."

I'm pretty much floored by this time. "No!" I nearly yell. "I'm not going to show you how to kill an innocent person!"

"Look, it's really not a big deal, you big baby," Chucky breezes. "We just need to see the techniques, ya know? Show us how the Good Guy thinks."

I shake my head and scoot away from them. "That's still me showing you how to kill someone in a roundabout way! I'm not stupid!" This is immoral! Injustified… If that's a word! And completely and terribly wrong!

"Ugh, you really are a Good Girl," Chucky groans while face-palming. I bunch up my shoulders and refuse to look at them.

"Rosey-gal, be respectful of your elders," comes Freddy's scratchy throat. I wince when his needle-like blades twist my head to look at him. I glare into his dark eyes, refusing to relent.

"I'm not doing it. Now either kill me or…or… kill me." Seems like those are my only two options at this point. That sucks.

"Oh, Rose, Rose, Rooose!" Freddy says, drawing out his last word like he's yawning. "That's not how this works. You see, right now, you belong to us. We're holding your precious little life in our hands and you're gonna listen to us."

"Hah, no I won't, buster," I assure him. "I already told you to kill me. I'm not helping you."

Freddy's smile grows ten sizes that day. Erm. He latches onto my face even tighter, causing me to whimper when his blades draw blood out of my cheeks.

"How about this? You help us, we won't harm your family."

My vision turns double at the mention of my family. "You leave them out of this," I warn with narrowed eyes.

Freddy finally pulls away, laughing. "It's your choice, Rosey-gal. Help us or they suffer. Big time."

I chew on my lip and look down at the ground. There was no way I was going to let them hurt my family. That just wasn't going to happen. But I don't want to be the cause of other people getting hurt….

My shoulders slump. "Fine," I mumble. "I-I'll… do it."

Freddy's face lights up. "Wonderful! Well, that about covers things for tonight." He smiles. "See you in your nightmares, Rose McGee."

Suddenly, I feel my eyelids growing heavy. Freddy's and Chucky's faces turn distorted as I swim in an out of consciousness. It's not long before my eyes shut and…

I wake up.

Literally. I fall asleep only to wake up again. This time, I'm happy to report that I actually woke up in my very own room. No more Chucky, no more Freddy…. Just me and my bedroom.

I let out a few laughs of giddy relief. So, that really was a dream. I want to jump on my bed and scream "Hallelujah!" to the sky but I'm way too wiped out. It feels like I didn't get a wink of sleep last night, yet I already see the sun rising from my window. I shoot a glance over at my bedside table and see that my Chucky doll isn't there. Was getting him part of the dream, too?

I yawn and stretch my arms upwards, a huge grin on my face.

"No more cake before bed, Rose," I mumble sleepily as I climb out of my bed and head to my closet. I throw open the door to find a suitable outfit for school today. I spot a pair of skinny jeans and a black sweater that look perfect for a Monday. They have that certain "I-don't-wanna-go-to-school-today" feel about them.

After showering, brushing my teeth, and changing, I head downstairs to where the rest of my family are having a breakfast of cereal, bagels, and orange juice.

Arnold looks up from his game long enough to cringe at my face. "Ew. Did you get any sleep last night?" he asked.

I glare at him and snatch up a bagel already smeared with cream cheese. I stuff it in my mouth and grab a carton of orange juice from the fridge. I give my mom a kiss on the cheek, tell everyone good-bye, and head out of the house.

It's a beautiful day here in Springwood. The sky is a beautiful shade of pink, the air is tinted to a chilly but comfortable temperature, and boy, does it smell wonderful! It's a great day to be alive and not being harassed by two fictional horror movie characters, I'll tell ya!

I hop into my black Prius (don't judge) and start 'er up.

"It's my liiiiiiiife!" I sing along with the music that starts pouring out of my speakers. I swing my head from side to side, earning a few strange stares from passerbyers. Whatever. Let's see how they act when they figure out their worst nightmare is _not_ coming true. I swing out of my driveway and head to Springwood High, singing the whole way.

* * *

"You look terrible."

Seriously, that's the first thing my best friend tells me when she sees me in first period History class. We're sitting at our adjacent desks, and I'm all ready to tell her about my dream when she says _that_.

Tabitha AKA Tacky chews on her gum and blows a huge bubble. She earned that nickname not because she dresses tacky (which she so doesn't; she puts Paris Hilton to shame) but because she shot a nailgun at a teacher who tried to send her to detention. Needless to say, after returning from her trip to the "happy doctor", no teacher ever pulled that stunt again.

She pops her gum with her tongue and pushes the wad back into her mouth. Suddenly, her mouth opens wide and she grabs my shoulders.

"You didn't have a party without me, did you?" Tacky cries.

I swat her hands away. "No, no, Tacky! You know I don't party!"

Tacky blinks and smiles. "Oh, right. Well, did you have a good birthday or did you scare everyone away with those suitcases you have under your eyes?"

"Ha," I laugh dryly. "Well, my birthday was good…I think." I slap my palms on my desk and lean towards her. "You will never guess what kind of dream I had last night."

"If it's another dream about Heath, I so don't want to hear it," Tacky begs while holding up her palm in my face. My face turns as hot as the sun at the mention of Heath's name.

Okay, Heath Monroe is this super cute guy in my Home Ec class. How cute is a guy that can cook? Anyway, he's a real gentleman and is nice to everyone that he comes across. Unfortunately, our paths never seem to cross, mostly due to me hiding behind trash cans and locker doors whenever he's within a ten foot radius of me.

I push away thoughts of Heath and shake my head. "No, it was about Freddy Krueger and Chucky," I tell her.

Tacky's brown eyes widen. "I haven't had a dream about those guys since middle school." She pauses to smile at a memory that only she can see. "I used to have the biggest crush on Chucky back then. He was so cute. I always thought he would marry me if we met."

Um, ew.

I can't help the unpleasant look that crosses over my face. Dream Chucky had been a big jerk. I tell Tacky every part of my dream, excluding the part where Freddy had clamped his burnt lips on my throat like he was trying out for a role in Twilight. My neck still felt raw and disgusting, even if it was only a dream.

Tacky listens like I'm telling her the best story in the world. When I finish, all she can say is, "Wow."

"I know," I said. "And get this. It felt so real. Like, I could feel everything that happened to me."

Tacky popped on her gum and nodded. "I hate those kind of dreams." A mischievous look crosses her eyes and she grins. "So, is that why you look so tired or is it because of that huge hickey on your neck?"

Wait, what?

My hand flies to my throat as my breathing comes to an abrupt halt. Hickey? Oh no, Rose McGee doesn't get hickeys, not even if she wanted one. I scramble to find my compact mirror in the jungle contained in my purse. Finding it next to my hand sanitizer, I pull it out and flip it open.

Oh. My. Gosh.

Sure enough, there's a mammoth-sized hickey right on the base of my throat. In fact, it's dangerously similar to the place that Freddy…

Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no.

"That was real? Freddy gave me a hickey?!" I screech at the top of my lungs.

You know those moments in class where everyone who was previously talking decides to get quiet right when you say something embarrassing? Yep, one of those moments happens right then. Every eye in the classroom falls on me, including our teacher's. He quirks an eyebrow at me in a look that says, "WTF?"

I laugh nervously while standing up from my seat. I pick up my backpack and race out of the classroom, shouting something about feminine products and cactuses.

I stumble down the empty hallway, feeling like a zombie. This can't be happening. The only way that I could have gotten this hickey would be if Freddy put it there when he stuck his gross mouth on my neck. But it was a dream! Dreams can't do that!

A scream tears out of my throat when something in my backpack jumps. I drop my backpack on the ground and scramble away from it. This is embarrassing, but my house has had rats in it before. I wouldn't be surprised if one of the little suckers crawled into my backpack while I was sleeping.

And learned how to unzip things?

I gape in horror as the zipper on my backpack starts to slowly unzip. I dig into my pocket, retrieving the last of my bagel that I shoved in there in case I got hungry later on. My shaking hand extends it towards the bag.

"I'm sorry we tried to catch you in that mouse trap!" I sob. "Take this as my peace offering!"

Suddenly, the bag pops open. I scream.

But, much to my surprise, it's not an angry rat that's stowed away in there. Not exactly. Chucky glares at me from my unzipped bag, waiting for me to stop screaming my head off.

My scream slowly dies away, only to pick right back up again. Chucky sighs and rests his chin in his hand. After another five seconds, my scream dissipates into a tiny squeak.

Chucky raises a painted brow. "You done?"

I open my mouth to scream again but Chucky throws one of my library books at my head. It hits my forehead sharply.

"Ouch," I wince while patting my raw forehead. I shake my head back and forth before pointing an accusing finger at Chucky. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to have been a dream!"

"Well, doll, this ain't a dream," Chucky assures me as he pulls himself out of my bag with a grunt. He grins and spreads his arms outwards. "I'm as real as real can get."

"N-No," I sputter while grabbing onto the sides of my head. "You can't be real. If you're real, then that means that our deal…"

"...Is still on and popping, sweetcheeks," Chucky finishes for me. "We still have some more explaining to do, so it's best if you come with me, back to the Dreamworld."

"No way!" I stand to my feet. "I'm not helping you guys!"

Chucky grins. "I think you remember what will happen to your family if you don't." His voice is cruel and uncaring. Jerk.

My head lowers. There's really no way out of this. I've got to help these freaks figure out how to get the Good Person or it's game over for everyone I love.

My hands clench into fists. "Fine," I spit. "Let's go."

Chucky snickers. "I thought you might say that." He toddles over to an unlocked locker and swings it open, revealing a shimmering pathway that I assumes leads to the Dreamworld. It's a spectrum of colors, glowing and twinkling like a funland, a funland where you get hickeys from charred freaks and get bullied by giant dolls.

Yay. So much fun.

"Let's move it, doll," Chucky urges. He points his knife at the locker, gesturing for me to go in.

With a huff, I pick up my backpack and squeeze into the locker. To my surprise, the locker doesn't have a back wall. It goes on and on. We walk for a long time in dreadful silence until the invisible platform we were on gives way.

"Ahhhhh!"

I scream as I plummet downwards into the shimmering colors. My arms and legs flail about like noodles as I continue to fall.

"Oof!" Suddenly, my bottom lands on something soft. I look down and realize that I've fallen right into a cushioned chair. I wriggle around in it a bit before surveying my surroundings.

It looks as if I've fallen right into some sort of meeting room. Dozens of other chairs surround the long table at the center of the room. An overhead projector dangles above me. It's projecting image after image of well known Good Guys and Girls.

Andy Barclay.

_Click._

Nancy Thompson.

_Click_.

I watch as face after face is shown. I swallow down the rising bile in my throat, which is really gross. Am I really going to be forced to help cause these people's death? I don't know if I can do that.

I cover my face and try my hardest to not start crying. My ears prickle at the sound of footsteps entering the spacious room. I look up and find Freddy "The Perv" Krueger grinning at me from across the table.

"Welcome, Rosey-gal," he says with a smarmy grin. "We're happy to have ya back!"

Before I can stop myself, I reach over and slap the grin right off of his face.

* * *

Tacky doesn't know what's up with her best friend. Rose has always been a strange girl, always reading books and singing to inanimate objects, but she'd never pegged her to be the one to come back to school with a gargantuan hickey on her throat.

Seriously, that hickey was _huge_. Either that person had a mouth like a python or he bit her. If some creep had bit her best friend, Tacky was going to kill someone.

When Rose races out of the room like her butt is on fire, Tacky knows that something is up. And if something is up, Tacky is gonna be all over it. She stands up and races out of the room after her friend, ignoring her teacher's angry yells for her to stay seated and dodging the toupee he throws after her.

She wanders down the hallway, searching for her suddenly deranged best friend.

"Rose!" the brunette calls out. "Rose, what's going—"

Tacky's lips clamp shut when she finally spots Rose…who is currently climbing inside of a locker. Not only that, there's a giant doll that looks strikingly similar to Chucky climbing in after her. The doll shuts the door behind them and Tacky is left standing there in the empty hallway, her eyes permanently frozen in their widened state.

That was really, really weird.

Tacky creeps over to the locker and gently grabs the handle. She doesn't know why she's doing this. Something is telling her to just go back to the classroom and forget she saw anything. But her undying curiosity and desire to save her best friend gets the best of her. She yanks open the locker and stares inside.

A blank, metal wall stares back.

* * *

**Next time**:_ Slapping Freddy Krueger is probably the single most stupid thing I've ever done in my entire life. Well, besides that time I accidentally warmed up aluminum foil in the microwave and nearly burnt down our house._


	8. Breaking the Mold

**7: Breaking the Mold**

**(**Back again! :) So, Rosey-gal just slapped Freddy and that was a mistake... Let's see how that plays out! And to **OrdinaryAuthor**, yes, I will feature a huuuge amount of killers in this story (one of them is introduced this chapter)! Some of them will be friendly, others...not so much :o I'm also going to feature some Good Guys from other scary movies! I can tell you that Rose, Chucky, and Freddy are definitely going to go through a lot together. If they become friends is still up in the air lol :P Thanks to you and Dusk -deerfluff for reviewing! I love seeing that people are reading my stories!**)**

* * *

Slapping Freddy Krueger is probably the single most stupid thing I've ever done in my entire life. Well, maybe besides that time I accidentally warmed up aluminum foil in the microwave and nearly burnt down our house. _Thaaat_ was pretty stupid.

Freddy's dark eyes turn into flames. He slowly rises from his seat, with all the power of an oncoming storm, and flicks his bladed fingers out to the side.

I laugh nervously and back away from him, bumping into some chairs in the process. They rattle and scrape against the black tile floor as I hurriedly try to push them aside. I reach a hand behind me and pat at the air, making sure I have a safe and clear escape route.

"Oops!" I chuckle, still walking backwards. "I've got really, _really_ bad reflexes. I see certain people and _WHAP_! I just slap 'em. Slap 'em silly. I can't even help it. It's a curse, really…"

My pathetic attempt at an excuse goes unheard as Freddy advances towards me. His body literally goes through the table like he's a ghost or something. Which, maybe, he is. Hasn't he died, like… five times? My laughs morph into sobs the closer that his ghostly form gets to me. I'm steadily backing away from him, snotting and crying, until I bump into something.

Or should I say someone? When I turn around, I see nothing but black, wispy cloth. I tilt my head upwards and take in the white, distorted mask of Ghostface, the menacing, stab-happy murderer from the Scream franchise.

And that's what I literally do. _Scream_ at the top of my freakin' lungs.

My scream is cut short when Ghostface's gloved hand covers my mouth. My eyes dart around wildly, searching for another route of escape. I know not many people are afraid of Ghostface, but try standing this close to a guy who cuts girls into bits for a living. Wait…. Do these guys even get paid for their… ahem… talents?

Ghostface gives a raspy laugh, much like the laugh that comes out of the phone his unlucky victims pick up before they get killed.

"Chucky was right," he says in his high yet scratchy voice. "This chick has a good set of lungs on her." He uncovers my mouth and motions at my seat with his knife. "Don't scream like that, okay? I've got the worst hangover ever right now and all of that screaming is gonna make it ten freakin' times worse."

All I can do is nod. Ghostface goes and sits in one the chairs. He kicks his legs up and rests his feet on the table's surface. "Let's get this show on the road!" he crows.

I stare at him, still shocked. Okay, he doesn't seem too bad as far as serial killer's go. At least he's not acting menopausal like _other _killers I know.

Speaking of which…

"Shut up, Ghostboy."

I spin around and stifle a scream when I see Freddy right in my face. His teeth are bared like he's some sort of feral dog and he looks ready to tear me apart like he is one.

"What the heck was that for? Slapping me?" Freddy growls while shoving his burnt, rubbery face even closer to mine. "You got a death wish, you tiny, loud-mouthed b****?"

I muster up my courage. If there's one thing I hate, it's a person yelling at me and calling me names. It doesn't matter if the person is some kind of dream monster—I'm not gonna stand for it.

"Hey, you don't have the right to yell at me, Crater-face!' I snap, which causes Ghostface to explode into little snickers and hiccups. I point at the gigantic purple hickey on my neck and shove _my _face closer to Freddy's. "Does _this_ big, ugly thing ring any bells in that charred head of yours, mister?"

Freddy's angry look slowly vanishes as he takes in the monstrosity on my throat. He lowers his blades and tilts his head to the side to get a better view of Mount Hickey.

"Makeup won't even be able to hide this giant mark! How the heck am I gonna explain this to my mom?" I continue to rant.

The angry look on Freddy's face disappears and he starts to laugh. Laugh! Like this is a laughing matter. My mom doesn't joke around when it comes to this kind of stuff. I can kiss my laptop goodbye once I see her again.

If I see her again…

Freddy snaps me back to reality when he gently runs his blade along the side of my neck. His face develops a proud grin. "Just tell her Freddy gave you a little… _love bite_."

I recoil in disgust and march to the front of the room. You know what? This whole thing is crazy. If I'm really in some sort of weird monster conference room with a bunch of horror movie icons, then I might as well face reality: my life has just been ran over and the remains have been handed over to said horror movie icons. If I want what little control of my life I have back, I'm going to have to do whatever they want me to. So, no more wasting time.

I eye Ghostface and giggling Freddy Kruger with a stern eye. "Okay. I'm here. I'm really mad that I'm here, but here I am. Now, what the heck do you guys want from me?"

"Feisty, isn't she?" Ghostface rasps.

"That ain't the half of it," Chucky says as he picks his miniscule body up from the floor where he landed. He takes a seat in one of the chairs. Realizing that he can barely see any of us since he's so short, he scrambles and struggle to climb up on the table. After about a minute, he finally makes it. Looking up and finding us all watching him, he awkwardly clears his throat. "Who's gonna do the explaining?" he asks gruffly.

"Not me," Ghostface announces. "I'm better at slicing than thinking."

"We know that much, ghost-brains," Freddy hisses. His body flickers a moment and suddenly, he's warped right beside me. I stumble away from him and fall into the seat next to Ghostface, who is studying his nails like a teenage girl.

Freddy sighs. "I'll explain it to our little brainless Good Girl." He taps the wall and the projections disappear. "We've thought of a better way to learn the behavior and mindset of a Good Guy."

"What's that?" I ask apprehensively.

Freddy's eyes gleam. "My companions and I all have our own movies. There are many more of our kind out there, horror movie monsters with movies plagued by _your_ kind."

"Gee, thanks."

"Just tellin' it like it is." Freddy taps the wall. A picture of a familiar well with a little Japanese girl standing in front of it appears. "The movies we star in are not of this world. In fact, each movie we star in has its own universe, if you want to call it that. Their own sort of world." Another tap and I'm staring at a picture of a neighborhood that looks a lot like the one the masked Michael Myers grew up in.

I scratch my chin as I study the different pictures, or should I say, the different worlds. "So, every sequel is set in a different world? Different from the one we're in now?"

Chucky claps his plastic hands together. "Looks who's not brain-dead after all!"

I glare at him, and he gives me the up-yours sign, but I have to turn back to face the front when Freddy begins speaking again. That little munchkin is such a nuisance!

"All three of us have a number of sequels," Freddy is explaining. "In each one, we're pretty much defeated by those stupid, worthless, annoying Good Guys."

"Make your point, please!"

"Let me talk!" Freddy snaps at me. He taps the wall and the picture changes again, this time to a photo of me... a really, _really_ ugly photo of me. Geez, did they have to pull up a photo of me from middle school? I still had my braces back on then and one of my eyes were half-closed. My mouth hung open like I was trying out for the role of a zombie in The Walking Dead. I blush when everyone in the room starts laughing.

"Dude, you looked like a complete loser!" Ghostface chortles.

"Shut up!" I growl, my face still burning up. How the heck did these weirdos even get my picture? I'm pretty sure it was Chucky's idea to use the ugliest photo of me they could conjure up.

Freddy fights to keep a straight face. "You, Rosey-gal, are a Good Girl. You are pretty much destined to win in our movies. That's why, we've decided to change our original plan a bit."

This catches my attention. I sit up in my seat and cock my head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"Instead of you showing us how to kill the Good Guys in our movies," Freddy explains with a twirl of his bladed hand, "you are going to show us how a Good Guy survives a horror movie."

* * *

_CR: Whatever could he mean? ;) Don't forget to R&amp;R!_

_**Next time**: I sigh and rub my shaking hands together. I can do this. It's for my family's sake. Besides, haven't I watched a thousand horror movies with Tacky? We would always scream at the stupid people in the movie who tripped, hid in a closet, or, even worse, suggested that everyone split up. We've always been certain that we could survive a horror movie. I guess it's time to put that theory to test._


	9. 8: LIGHTS! CAMERA! ACTION!

**8: Lights, Camera, Action! I'm a Movie Star! ...Not.**

I stare at Freddy with my mouth slightly agape. Freddy stares back, awaiting my reaction. I glance over at Ghostface, who seems to have fallen asleep. His head is thrown back and loud, obnoxious snores are pouring through the front of his mask. I finally look at Chucky.

"Well?" the doll asks.

I giggle nervously. "Er, sorry. I don't understand what you're trying to say."

Freddy facepalms for a long time and then utters out a growl. "Okay," he holds up his hands. "Let's put it in simple terms for our simpleton. We're going to send you into one of the horror movie worlds and see how you survive. Comprende?"

"What?!" I scream. "You want me to go into a horror movie world?!"

"And she _finally_ catches on," Chucky drones.

I stand up and wave my hands in front of me. "Whoa, slow down, compadres! Doesn't that mean that I'm putting myself in _danger_?"

Freddy shrugs. "Pretty much."

"B-But what if I get killed? Which is a pretty likely outcome of this stupid idea!"

"Tough luck, doll," Chucky snickers. "We can always find another Good Person."

I flop back in my seat, feeling defeated. I thought they needed me, which was something I was going to use as a sort of trump card to play if they ever threatened my life. At the same time, I can't fight away a strange sense of relief at the idea of going into a horror movie world. At least I don't have to show them how to kill someone. Instead, I'll just be sent off to who-knows-where to try and not get my head cut off by some psycho.

"Well," I mumble. "When do I start?"

"I'm happy you asked," Freddy says. He cuts his eyes over at Ghostface, whose snores have become increasingly loud. "Hey! Wake your dumb a** up!"

Ghostface snaps awake and rubs at his mask. "Wha?" he asks. "I'm up!"

Freddy rolls his eyes before he continues speaking. "We've already discussed which movie world to send you to and decided we should start you off somewhere relatively easy, just to test the waters. If you're not cut out for the job, we'll find out with this first world."

His blades hit the wall and a picture of an infamous blood-covered killer appears on the screen. I feel my eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. My hands clamp down on the armrests of my chair. I lean back in my seat and get ready to scream but Ghostface's hand covers my mouth.

"Thank you," Freddy says with a grateful tip of his hat to Ghostface. Ghostface bumps his fist to his chest and throws up a peace sign with his free hand.

I struggle against Ghostface's grip until he finally lets me go. I gasp for air before pointing up at the picture on the wall. "Jason?!" I screech. "You think that he's the easiest choice?!"

"Well, yeah," Ghostface says with a shrug. "How hard can it be to not get killed by a big retard in a mask?" Chucky and Freddy give him pointed looks. Ghostface glances between both of them before asking, "What?"

I shake my head. "Jason is like a big…indestructible…hockey player! With a machete!" I add. "There's not a chance in this world that I'm going to survive being in the same world as that massive mutant! Gimme someone easier! Like the Leprechaun in the Hood!" The title alone makes me a little less scared of him. With enough money and gold, maybe I'd be able to pay him not to kill me?

"Not our d*** problem, princess," Chucky says. He really seems to be enjoying this, the little jerk. I oughta punt him across the room. "You are going to take your butt in there and try your hardest to survive, which I doubt you'll be able to do. I'll be the first to say that I don't think you're the right person for the job."

I shouldn't let him get to me. I really shouldn't. What do I care what some evil little fictional psychopath thinks about me? But he's really, _really_ annoying me by how often he keeps putting me down. I just can't hold my tongue with this jerk, no matter how extremely painful the consequences will be of talking back to him.

I slam my hands down on the table, stand up, and narrow my eyes at the pint-sized murderer. "Send me into a Jason movie," I demand. "Send me into any of your dumb 'horror movie worlds'. Send me wherever it takes to keep you monsters away from my loved ones. But after you get your 'information', I never want to see any of you creeps around me or my family… _ever… again_."

Chucky grins. He is just _too _happy to see how easy it is for him to get under my skin. He steps closer to me and matches my glare with one of his own. His left eye is twitching and his rubber grin is maniacal.

"You talk big now, _dollface_," he hisses. "Let's see what tune you're singing once Jason lays his machete through your thick skull."

I try not to let it show, but his words make me want to vomit. I gulp but don't bat an eye.

"Oh yeah?" I declare. "We'll just see about that. Let's not forget that the Good Guy _always_ wins."

I hear Freddy and Ghostface hiss in anger at my words. I smirk, feeling victorious. Yeah, that's right, boys. _You _need _me_. If they ever wanted to figure out how my kind thinks, they are going to have to work with me. I'm not some victim. I'm a fighter! I can handle whatever these freaks can dish out and hopefully even call the shots.

Chucky eyes me up and down and then grins appreciatively, which makes the plastic on his face wrinkle up.

"Look who put on their big girl panties," he mutters. Finally, he breaks eye contact with me and starts walking towards the end of the table where Freddy is. I don't know if I'm imagining things, but I think I saw a hint of approval in that little, grotesque grin of his.

"Hey," he continues, still plodding towards Freddy. "You survive this movie and you might earn a bit of my respect."

I scoff at this. "Like I care about earning your respect. I just want to get away from all of you."

I sound sooo salty right now, but can you blame me? I'm not in a good mood. After zero hours of sleep and finding out that my life and my family's lives are in jeopardy, you can imagine how much friendliness I'm feeling towards the people who caused both of these things to happen.

"You think we want to be around a slimy stick in the mud Good Girl like you?" Freddy's scratchy, rumbling voice cuts into my thoughts. He looks a little ticked now that I've found a little bit of courage. He's got his arms crossed and one of his knifes are tapping against his elbow. "We just want to find out how to get rid of all of you!" he growls.

"Well then, you'd better hope I survive this little excursion," I taunt. "Cause otherwise, you're going to have to find yourself new girl."

"I'm already wishing we had," Freddy mumbles. He shoots me an acidic glare and then begins his explanation again. "As I was saying, you will be going into Jason's horror movie world to try and survive the entire length of a movie, which is roughly around an hour and thirty minutes to us viewers. Being a participant in the movie, it will last probably a day to a week for you, depending on a few key factors, say an annoying Good Samaritan decides to move you away somewhere or Jason just feels like toying with you."

I gulp.

"One of us will go with you, to take notes," Ghostface tosses in. "That's about it for the ex-pli-nations! You got all that, sweetheart?"

I sigh and rub my shaking hands together. I can do this. It was for my family's safety. Besides, hadn't I watched a thousand horror movies with Tacky? We would always scream at the stupid people in the movie who tripped, hid in a closet, or, even worse, suggested that everyone split up. We were always certain that we would survive a horror movie. I guess it's time to put that theory to test.

"Okay," I finally say. "I'm ready. Which Jason movie am I going into? The fourth one? Just please don't send me into Jason X." That movie sucked, big-time.

Freddy clucks his long tongue at me. "Not how it works, Rosey-gal. We can't send you into one of his older movies. You might have seen how they play out and already know the key to survive. We're going to send you to one of Jason's concept worlds."

"Concept world?" I question.

"It's like an idea for a movie but it was never brought to the big screen. You'll be going to one that you've never even _dreamed_ of."

Crap. There goes my ace.

"Okay, so I'm going into a horror movie world that no one has ever before experienced. Great. Do I have to go empty-handed? I don't get to bring a weapon?"

"Now where's the fun in that?" Freddy teases with a wag of his finger. "You'll be just like the rest of the stupid teenagers in our movies. Weaponless and defenseless."

I groan and put my face in my hands. I flick my fingers out, still keeping my face covered. "Fine. Send me. Just… Just tell my family and friends that I love them if I don't make it back."

"Aw, we'll try to remember," Chucky says with a roll of his plastic eyes.

Liar.

Freddy swings his claws out, ripping a hole in the air itself. A portal of red, pink, and purple plasma opens before us and I find myself peering into another dimension. There's a giant lake in the distance and plenty of trees. It looks peaceful enough, but isn't that how every horror movie starts off before the carnage begins?

I swallow and send a fearful look at Freddy. "What happens if I get killed?" I ask.

He smirks. "Game over, Rosey-gal. Or should I say, life over?"

I gulp again and nod. I prepare to step into the rift but stop and look at Freddy again. "Hey, which one of you guys are coming with me...?"

Freddy only cocks an eyebrow at me. Seeing that he isn't going to answer me, I take a deep breath and step into the rift.

* * *

Here comes the first Concept World! How do you think Rose will fare? ;o

**Next time: **_It had to be Freddy's grand idea to open a rift that opened up right above the lake. With a shriek, I fall into the freezing, cold water. It gushes around me like ice-cold hands pulling me under. I hold my breath and cover my nose, which helps me do nothing but sink even further. That big, burnt jerk! I can't swim! Is he trying to kill me?_


	10. Camp Crystal Lake

**9: Camp Crystal Lake**

It had to be Freddy's grand idea to open a rift that opened up right above the lake. With a shriek, I fell into the freezing, cold water. It gushed around me like ice-cold hands pulling me under. I held my breath and covered my nose, which helped me do nothing but sink even further.

That big, burnt jerk! I can't swim! Is he trying to kill me?

I begin to panic when I realize that it's starting to get dark. I hate the dark. Oh gosh, I hate the dark! A stream of bubbles flow out of my mouth as I start to thrash about like a madwoman. My lungs were about to burst and I wasn't getting any closer to the surface. It was only getting darker and darker…

Am I really going to die right now? And not even by the hands of the guy who's supposed to kill people? How lame is that going to be?

Without warning, two arms wrap around my midsection and I'm pulled upwards and out of the darkness. My rescuer and I burst through the surface of the lake where I immediately begin to gasp for air. I cling to the person who saved me like a koala, sobbing and thanking God for oxygen.

"Whoa, calm down, Sam!"

I blink at the sound of my name coming from a foreign voice. I look up and find myself staring up at a balding man with a thin mustache and foggy glasses. He looks like someone's perverted dad.

He gives me a smile, though, and any doubt goes out of my head. "You took quite the splash there, didn't you?" he asks in a kind voice. All I can do is nod. He may look like a total creeper but I'm just glad he saved me from drowning.

Mustache Man swims with me over to the shore of the lake. I finally release my deathhold on him and crawl along the sand. I press my cheek to the gritty ground and sigh happily. I sit back up and give Mustache Man a grin.

"Thank you," I say.

"Oh, it's no problem, Sam!" he assures me. My smile turns into a disgusted frown when I see that the middle-aged man's face is turning red. Oh, that is just gross. I don't even know who this old dude is. How the heck does he know my name, anyway?

He runs a hand over his thinning hair, hopefully not in an attempt to be hot, because his attempt failed, miserably. "How did you get out in the middle of the lake, anyway?" he suddenly asks. "You can't swim, right?"

My eyes shift from left to right as I try to think of a proper lie. I can't just tell him I fell from a different universe in the sky. I'm not sure how he would handle that but the end product would most likely be a psychiatric ward.

"I, uh… Well, I jumped from a tree," I lie, pointing towards one of the trees that had branches overhanging the blue water of the lake.

"Ah, that explains it." Mustache Man stands up and wipes his sandy hands off on his shorts. He offers me another smile that makes my skin crawl. His eyes crawl all over my body, taking special notice of my clingy wet sweater. Perv. "I certainly don't mind saving you, but be more careful from now on."

Ick. Don't worry, buddy, I don't plan on jumping in anymore lakes anytime soon.

On the outside, I put on a smile and say, "Thanks, um…?"

"Aw, you already forgot the name of your camp counselor? Mr. Lee?"

Camp counselor? Shoot, I should have realized. This was Camp Crystal Lake, Jason's old stomping grounds and the site of numerous murders. Why the heck do people still camp out here if they know everyone pretty much ends up dying?

"Right," I tell the balding man. "Thanks, Mr. Lee. Um," I pause to tap my fingers to my lips. "Did you say you were _my_ camp counselor?"

Mr. Lee chuckles. "Well, not yours personally, sorry to disappoint."

Ohmigoodness, I'm about to throw up.

"…I'm in charge of your class while you visit with us for the weekend."

Wait. My class? Don't tell me… Am I actually a part of the movie? As in, one of the characters? That would explain how this creep already knows my name.

A series of whoops and shouts alert me to the fact that I'm about to have company. Loud, obnoxious teenaged company.

I guess I'm about to figure out what my role in this movie will be.

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for reading and all of your feedback! _


	11. The Roles

**Thanks for your reviews and love! Here's another chapter! :)**

* * *

**10: The Roles**

Four hooting and hollering teenagers barrel towards me like a herd of mad bulls. Having years of horror movie experience under my belt, it is easy to identify the characters and which stereotypical roles they would be in charge of playing out.

There's the Jock. I could see his rippling, glistening muscles from a mile away. His shiny, golden hair and buff, shirtless bod might as well be signs that read "BIG DUMB JOCK! COME AN' GET ME!"

Then there's the horror movie staple: the dumb jock's flirty blonde girlfriend. Bet ya we'll see her either naked or dead or both before this thing is over with. With a face like a movie star and a bikini bod like a model, the Blonde Bombshell turned many heads as she made her way towards me. Her lithe fingers are grasping Jock-Boy's, so I figure that they're dating.

Ah, there's Typical Cute Crush material. He's staring at me with puppy-eyes that highly suggests that he's going to be my love interest. His tousled brown hair and dimpled smile _are_ pretty adorable. I offer him a tiny smile and wiggle my fingers at him.

What? He's cute! I'll be darned if I'm not gonna enjoy being the apple of that cutie's eye.

Oh, wait, I can't forget Comic Relief guy. His pale skin looks like this might be the first time it's ever seen the light of day. His brown hair is limp and greasy and there's a big grin dancing over his face. He looks like he's already stoned or just sleepy as heck.

"Hey, what the heck was that?" Blonde Bombshell asks as she and the group finally make it to me. Her full lips are twisted into an angry pout as her blue eyes study me carefully. "You nearly drowned yourself out there, Rose! Are you trying to reenact that old legend or something?"

My stomach starts to do an uncomfortable dance. "Um, sorry," I tell her with a small shrug of my shoulders. "…What legend are you talking about?"

"You turn into a space cadet on us or something?" Comic Relief dude says in a voice that sounds remarkably similar to Shaggy's voice from the old Scooby Doo cartoons. Comic Relief dude gives a series of annoying chortles. "Duuuude, who hasn't heard about the legend of Jason?"

Typical Cute Crush's face becomes uncomfortable when he sees my mouth flop open like a giant bass. "Guys," he states. "Let's not talk about that kind of thing right now. Rose hates that kind of stuff. Right, Rose?" He looks to me for confirmation, a hopeful twinkle in his eyes.

I nod blandly, feeling myself getting pulled into those gentle pools of cerulean. "Yeah," I say. "Aren't we… Aren't we here to have fun?" I feel a bit light-headed once Typical Cute Crush's eyes leave me. Why do I feel so inexplicably drawn to this guy? Sure, he's hot, but I never act this way about guys, even guys that look like him. I hope I'm not coming down with something after falling into that river.

I shake my head to pull myself out from under his spell. "It's okay. We can talk about it," I tell them with a determined smile. If I'm going to survive this thing, I'm going to need to know as much as I can about Jason. I haven't watched many of his movies, but from what I have watched, I've learned that Jason is indestructible and favors using a machete to kill his victims. Besides that information, I don't know a thing about the large serial killer.

"Ooh, fun idea!" Blonde Bombshell squealed while wagging her finger about. "We can make a bonfire tonight and tell some scary stories then."

"Sounds great, babe," Jock-boy agrees. We all pretty much agree before heading over to the wooden cabins a little further from the lake. From there, I learn everyone's real names. Blonde Bombshell's name is actually Ashley Pettis, her boyfriend is Scott Manchester, Comic Relief is Remy Warren, and Gorgeous over there is called Nathan Pratt. We're all here at scenic Camp Crystal, which was recently reopened to the public for Spring Break since there isn't a beach nearby. Apparently, spending a week at a place known worldwide for its viciously detailed murders sounded like a good vacationing spot.

Other interesting things I find out are that Nathan and I used to date before I found out he was cheating on me with Ashley. Judging by the puppy dog looks he keeps giving me, he is regretting that decision, big-time. Look at these five feet of admittedly scrawny but pure deliciousness…. 'course he would miss all of this.

Completely joking, you guys. It is nice feeling wanted, though, even if it's by a guy that technically nonexistent.

One thing I haven't learned is where the heck Freddy, Chucky, or Ghostface are. They said that one of them would be here with me, but I haven't seen hide or hair of them. Aren't they supposed to be my Secret Service in case Jason decides to pull a fast one on me?

I didn't think I would be saying this, but… I really hope I see one of those homicidal maniacs soon.

That night, we all start a bonfire and decide to proceed to dive into the realm of stupidity and tell scary stories in a camp known worldwide for its legendary killer. Let's just _add _to the already creepy vibe that's floating around this place, shall we?

The camp counselors sit around the fire with us, bottles of cold beer in their hands and a gigantic bong set up in front of them. Let's just say none of them will be winning Employee of the Year awards anytime soon.

I sat next to Nathan, who keeps trying to run his hand down my leg. There's this strange part of me that's enjoying it and that part of me is really annoying the rest of me. Under no circumstances will I ever let a guy who I'm not dating or romantic with put his hands on me. There's gotta be something wrong with me if I'm enjoying this right now. Maybe I'm being affected because I'm in this world.

This campfire ghost story session has got me even more on edge than Nathan's wandering hands. I'm just going through the motions: sending everyone false smiles, tossing in a weak "woohoo!" every now and then, and always glancing over my shoulder to see if (and when) Jason will be paying us a visit.

Scott goes first in telling a story. His golden hair and mischievous eyes reflect the dancing flames of the bonfire. A wide grin spreads across his face as he looks around the fire at each of us.

"Once upon a time," he begins in a low, chilling voice.

Everyone snorts in unison.

"What?" Scott roars, his face red. "What's so funny?"

"Dude, what kind of scary story starts off with 'once upon a time'?" Nathan teases.

"Lame!" Remy agrees, nearly choking on his alcoholic beverage.

Scott's ears turn red with embarrassment. He digs up a handful of dirt and chucks it at Remy, who catches it with his face. We all laugh at his shocked expression.

"As I was saying," Scott growled. "Once upon a _freaking_ time, there was a boy." Scott's voice shifts back into that deep, haunting voice he was using when he first began his story.

"This guy was completely jacked up, dude," Scott says. "His face looked like someone ran it over twice and then emptied nuclear waste all over it."

"Ew," Ashley grimaces before taking a swig of her drink. She offers me the bottle, but I decline. She rolls her eyes and mutters, "Prude," before giving her attention back to Scott. Alcohol tastes disgusting. Why everyone acts like it's the next best thing after Nutella, I'll never know.

Scott's story goes on. "One day, that boy went to this very lake for summer camp. Everyone bullied him. They kicked him, spit at him, threw rocks at him… You name it, they did it to the little loser."

His blue eyes narrow. "Then, one day, the little boy mysteriously drowned. No one knew who did it or how it happened, but everyone believed it had something to do with the bullies and the camp counselors."

"Sure, blame the authorities and not the stupid kid for playing in the water," one female counselor whines.

"Why weren't they watching him?" I ask.

The female counselor cuts her eyes at me but Scott speaks before she gets the chance to.

"Everyone thinks they were off screwin' around and not paying attention to the kids. Anyway, the kid's mom worked at the camp as the mess house chef. Old bat went crazy when she heard what happened. They say she chopped up last one of those camp counselors. Some say she even served the kids the counselor's dismembered body parts."

We all make disgusted faces at this, but I think we're all intrigued by this time. The light of the fire gives our enraptured faces an orange glow.

"Gross, I know," Scott agrees. "The lady eventually was caught and put to death but something strange happened. More people went to Camp Crystal Lake and they never came back. Their dead bodies would be found days later, hacked to pieces. They say that someone is still wandering these woods, looking to kill every bad boy and girl, and every camp counselor, because camp counselors suck and make camps look a lot more lame. They say that it's the same little boy who drowned who is hunting them down. And do you know what his name is?"

We all lean towards Scott, eagerly awaiting his answer. Seconds pass, hearts thud, breathing grows shorter. Nathan's hand is still on my thigh. Somehow, I find the power to brush it aside, but I keep my eyes on Scott.

Suddenly, someone leaps from the forest, clutching a long object in their hand. From here, that shadowy figure sure looks a lot like…

"Jason!" we all shriek at the top of our lungs.

* * *

**Oh boy...**

**See you in the next chapter! :)**


	12. Skinny Dipping is Fun!

**11: Skinny-Dipping is Fun!**

* * *

The dark figure lifts the long object above their heads. We all continue to scream in terror. Our screams slowly die away when something that sounds strangely like laughter comes from the terrifying figure.

The not-so-terrifying figure come out of the darkness of the forest, revealing itself to be nothing more than a lanky teenage boy. Wearing a dark tee and sweats, the guy steps from the shadows and gives us all a grin. His black, messy hair nearly falls over his face, obscuring his eyes from our view. Silly me. I forgot how much horror movies like to tease us with jumpscares before anything real happens.

He clucks his tongue at all of us. "Isn't it past your bedtime, little children?" he teases, while shaking a stick at us. I cock my head upon hearing the sound of his voice. It sounds familiar to me but I'm sure I've never met this guy before in my life.

Ashley gives a low growl and playfully shoves the dark-haired boy's leg, causing him to stumble about. "Lame, Fred! Like, I thought you weren't even going to come camping with us? What are you doing here?" she asks.

_Fred?_ Why does that name send all kinds of anger surging through my body? My hand finds the hickey on my neck as my eyes continue to study the lanky teen.

No.

Freaking.

Way.

It's Freddy.

Apparently hearing my thoughts, the boy lifts his head slightly. His red eyes lock onto mine before a manic grin spreads over his face.

"Changed my mind," he says, speaking to Ashely but still staring at me. "Things might turn out to be a little more fun than I thought they were going to be."

I grimace and move my eyes back to the roaring bonfire. Hm. I wonder if I should just go ahead and jump into the flames? It might be far less painful than whatever awaits me tonight. Seriously, why couldn't Ghostface have been my companion for this movie?! He seems somewhat cool and laidback. Maybe a little high off his head, but cool. I would even take temperamental Chucky over this perverted maniac! The hickey on my neck burns when I just look at this creep. Not to mention the fact that I'm fighting the urge to pee on myself right now while his eyes are on me. I wasn't kidding when I said that this guy terrifies me more than Chucky and Ghostface combined.

"Alright, kids!" One of the drunken counselors have decided to try and bring some order to the mass of equally as drunk teenagers. The blonde, bespectacled woman staggers around like a zombie as she balances her bottle in one hand and gestures at us with her free hand. "It's time to hay the hit! We all have curfewwwws at this camp, so get ta moving! Go to bed!" She promptly tips over into Counselor Lee's arms. He looks as if he's deciding rather her should keep her locked in his basement forever or just hug her to him and cry, like a man who's never held a woman before in his life.

We all climb to our feet and start heading to our cabins. I lag behind the group, hoping to get a chance to talk to Freddy. Maybe "Fred" can give me some more hints and tips on how I'm going to survive this movie.

Unfortunately, Nathan catches me first. "Hey," he greets me with a nudge of his elbow once he falls into stride with me.

"Hello-o-o," I utter nervously. My hands are trying to find something to keep themselves occupied while I have the attention of this extremely handsome guy on me. I never know how to act around guys. My wandering hands finally settle on scratching under my armpit.

Smooth, girl. Smooooth.

Nathan doesn't seem to notice my weirdness. He's too busy ogling my face, like it's butter and he's the bread and he's ready to sop me right up.

"You look really pretty tonight," he tells me.

My eyelids flutter and my lips curve up into this really big, dopey smile.

"Why, th-thank you," I purr. I mentally slap myself and struggle to get a hold of myself. You're in a horror movie, Rose! You have to stay alert at all times! Even when a guy with really cute dimples and a gorgeous set of eyes calls you pretty…!

"Hey."

A new voice cut into our conversation. To my ears, the voice sounded like that annoying buzz gnats give off when they're flying right in your face and you can't seem to hit them fast enough.

I look over my shoulder and find "Fred" frowning at me from his squatting position by the bonfire. Everyone else has already went to the cabins. His red eyes glare at me, silently telling me to bring my butt over there.

"I'll be at the cabins in a bit," I tell Nathan before hurrying over to Freddy. Nathan walks away, leaving Freddy and I alone and free to glare at each other. Seconds tick by before I decide to be the first one to speak.

"Why do you look like a member of Fall Out Boy?" I question the murderous dream possessor.

"And why do you look like a little lovesick puppy?" Freddy shoots back. "Wag your tail any harder and it'll fall off, tramp!"

My face darkens with blush and I look away, back to the bonfire that nobody bothered to put out. Where's Smokey when you need him?

"It's not my fault. This movie is messing with my hormones or somethin'," I inform Freddy in a haughty tone while pouting and folding my arms like a child. I hurriedly change the subject. "So, when can I expect Jason to show up?"

"Duh, it's a surprise!" Freddy hisses. He knocks some of his bangs aside and huffs. "Why do kids wear their hair like this? Can't see s***," he mutters. He straightens out his shirt and gives me a wide grin. "Well, I'm off to watch some kids skinny dip. Try not to get killed, Rosey-gal." He waves his fingers at me, which suddenly have their blades embedded above them. I gasp and cover my mouth so that I don't scream.

With that, Freddy laughs and vanishes into thin air, leaving me alone. I glance around nervously when I hear a twig break in the distance. Okay, another rule to surviving a horror movie: **never** go anywhere alone.

Another twig breaks. I let out a yelp that sounds like a cross between a puppy and a wild hog before I make a beeline for the cabin. The boys went to their own cabin a few meters from the girls' cabin, so I find myself alone once again when I make it to my cabin. I can hear the telltale sign of teenagers being stupid in the distance. Wild fits of obnoxious giggles and masculine laughter float from the lake. It sounds like Ashley and Scott. They must be the kids Freddy was talking about that were going skinny-dipping. Like I said, Freddy is a giant perv and apparently, a child predator since all of us are probably around sixteen.

I feel guilty letting those two walk right into a horror movie trap, so I'm thinking about going to warn them out of the water. But first things first—I'm going to need me a weapon. I am tired of feeling defenseless.

I scour the cabin looking for a suitable weapon. Unfortunately, I find no golf clubs but I do find a plastic knife, a bag of ginger snap cookies, and an old newspaper. The first one is probably a no-go, the cookies will be an awesome midnight snack, and hey, a newspaper worked for Kia in Freddy vs. Jason.

Er, on second thought… Scratch that. I'm pretty sure that movie ended badly for her.

"Dark meat," I mutter angrily as I toss the newspaper aside and heave a defeated sigh. I'm a sitting duck. I don't have a thing to defend myself with. As much as I'd like to lie, I'm no heavyweight boxing champion, so the odds of beating Jason in a sparring match are _not _in my favor.

I'm not gonna survive this thing, am I?

I'm sobbing and biting into my fourth cookie when I hear the high-pitched scream come from the lake. I shoot up to my feet, spilling cookies everywhere. Okay, that didn't sound good. After having a memorial service for the wasted cookies, I grab my plastic knife and race out of the door and towards the lake.

I'm silently cursing myself the entire time. Rose, you _never_ run towards the scream or scary noise! You should be running in the opposite direction!

My mental berating does little to stop my feet from taking me to the lake. I barely know these people but… but, darn it, I'm going to try to help them!

When I make it to the lake, everything seems calm. There's no one in the lake. The only sound coming from the area is the chirping of the crickets and an occasional hoot of an owl. I look around, confused. I definitely heard a scream come from the lake and it sounded like Ashley…

My eyes finally spot a small group of people in the distance. From here, none of them look like Jason so I hurry over, my flimsy knife still clutched in my hand.

"Hey, guys, what's going—"

My sentence is cut off by another high-pitched, feminine squeal but this time, I'm positive that it didn't come from Ashley. It came from Mr. Lee, who is currently little more than a bloody pulp on the ground. Scott stands over him, his chest heaving.

Before I can gasp dramatically and accuse Mr. Lee of being Jason this _whole_ time in a very Scooby-Doo like manner, Scott speaks.

"_That's_ for spying on my girlfriend, you piece of crap!" he roars. Mr. Lee emits another squeal and hides his face with his hands. I look up and see Ashley a few feet away, her naked form thankfully hidden by the shrubbery. She looks understandably freaked out.

"Wow," I mutter. "This isn't what I expected at all."

Scott huffs. "Sorry if I woke you up, Rose. This creep had it coming."

I raise my hands. "Nope, no problem here. But, um… Maybe you guys should come back to the cabins now? So we can all be together?" I suggest with a hopeful grin. It's a win-win situation for all of us involved. I'm not alone and they're not sitting, naked ducks.

Before Scott can answer, I hear a series of loud whoops coming from the cabins. A moment later, Remy and Nathan burst into the clearing, wearing absolutely nothing.

Oh sweet baby llamas. I cover my eyes with my hands and try to will the images away. I peek through my fingers and keep my eyes on the top halves of their bodies.

"I'm on fire, baby!" Nathan hollers while pouring his bottle of beer over his head and then shaking around like a bulldog. He immediately starts screaming about his eyes being on fire.

Sigh. There goes my crush on him. I can feel the hold that the movie world had on my hormones slowly fade away.

Remy mimics Nathan and soon, the two knuckle heads are streaking towards the lake.

"Woo!" Scott yells before taking off after them, forgetting all about Mr. Lee.

"Guys!" I yell after them. "It's getting late! We need our beauty sleep!"

"Gosh, put a lid on it, Rose!" everyone shouts back in unison.

No one listens to me. The urge to swim completely naked in a freezing lake trumps keeping safe and warm in a cabin. Even Ashley dives into the lake after them. They all proceed to splash each other and laugh like lunatics.

This is what alcohol does to you, children. It forces you to disregard old legends about murderers and makes you forget that you could potentially die from hypothermia.

"Come on in, Rose!" Remy suddenly calls out. Everyone's heads turn my way and their all grinning.

"Yeah, come on, don't be a prude!" Ashley sings from her comfortable position on Scott's back. "We're all friends here! Let's see what you've got under those clothes from last season, baby!"

Um, no. The last time I swam naked in front of someone was when I was a baby and I was getting bathed.

I force a grin and point with both thumbs over my shoulder, back towards the cabins. "It's warm in the cabins," I mention. "We can go, um… party it up in there! With some entertaining board games and hot cocoa!" I pump my fist and give a weak, "Woop, woop?"

Everyone shares a laugh at my expense before they go back to splashing one another and trying to get a peep of Ashley. I sigh and turn away from the lake. Well, at least we're all together here. If I go back to the cabin, I'll be all alone and there's a horror movie no-no. I'm not going to be the idiot who stays by themselves but I'm not going into the lake either.

Looks like my only option is to sit down and stare at the sky. I do just that, but I'm having a hard time focusing. When does the killer usually make his appearance? It's never at the beginning of the movie but some time has already passed, right? He should be arriving soon.

But I should be safe, right? I'm a Good Girl! I'm cunning, resourceful, and full of virginal power… or whatever. Yeah, thinking like this isn't helping.

I resist the urge to vomit everywhere and instead, focus on the good that will come out of this. My family will be kept safe. Nothing will happen to them because I'm here. That's right, Rose. You're doing this for them. Maybe, I'll even be able to save everyone here, too. They may be fictional, but they feel real and alive to me. I don't want them to get hurt.

A sudden rustle from behind me snaps me out of my thoughts. I look over my shoulder and find nothing but swaying trees and darkness. A few owls hoot back at me. I give a nervous laugh and wave my fingers at one. The owl spins its head around…and around and around and around until its head promptly falls off of its body.

My eyes widen and I'm just about to scream, but Ashley beats me to it.

* * *

**Next time, Jason Voorhees finally makes his appearance!**


	13. And the Real Movie Begins

**12: And the Real Movie Begins  
**

* * *

"He's dead!" Ashley is wailing at the top of her lungs. "He's freaking _dead_!"

Just like that, I know it's time for the _real_ movie to begin. You know that part in every scary movie where the lame jumpscares end and stuff starts to get real, usually marked by one of the lesser character's death? I think I just entered it. But who died?

I shoot to my feet and look around the forest wildly, looking for some clue to where Ashley might be, but I don't see her or anyone else anywhere. The lake's empty now. The glittering blue surface is still.

I swallow down the hard lump that formed in my throat and feel it sit like a rock in my stomach. The forest is so silent, it's unnerving, especially since I'm now alone. I take a deep breath and wrap a hand around the plastic knife I pocketed earlier. My breathing is coming out in shallow, weak spurts and my knees feel like they've morphed into Jell-O.

Suddenly, Ashley screams and the silence is shattered.

After hiking up my pants (which will most likely be wet in the next minute or so), I dash towards the sound of Ashley's pleading cries, ignoring the little voice in my head that's screaming, "DON'T RUN TOWARDS THE SCREAM, STUPID!".

It doesn't take long to find Ashley. She's curled up in a little ball on the forest floor, crying harder than I've ever seen a person cry before. Her whole body, which is decorated in dirt and small, broken twigs, is trembling.

"Ashley!" I call out as I enter the clearing where she's at.

Ashley pulls her head up from the ground when she hears my voice. When our eyes meet, her face immediately crumples and she starts sobbing again. She climbs to her feet and races over to me, not bothering to cover herself. I guess we're supposed to be that good of friends in this movie? Or maybe she's just one of those girls who doesn't care about walking around naked? It's weird but I'm more concerned over why she was screaming that someone being dead rather than her lack of clothes right now.

"Rose!" Ashley starts talking so fast that I can barely keep up with her. "You've got to help me fix Scott! He's… He's not breathing! I-I tried to do mouth-to-mouth and CPR but nothing's _working_!"

"Hey, hey, calm down!" I quietly urge her. I help her sit back down on the forest floor. Ugh. This is so unsanitary.

"We've got to stay calm, Ashley, okay?" I say, while doing my best to put a smile on. I probably resemble a gassy Chihuahua, but it's enough to make Ashley stop gasping for air and nod at me.

"Thanks, Rose," she says. She swipes at her nose. "D-Do you think you could try to help him? I know you don't owe me anything after what Nathan and I did behind your back, but I…. I can't lose him." Her voice lowers into a whisper. "Scott means absolutely _everything_ to me. He looks at me and he sees more than what everyone else pegs me as. You know, the blonde bimbo who cheers? He's the only other person in the world besides you who know how my parents treat me. He said he's going to get me away from all of their yelling and berating after we graduate from high school_. _He told me we were going to get married, Rose."

Tears rise to my eyes. I feel so guilty. I always thought little of the "blonde bimbo" in scary movies. I thought they were annoying and brainless and I was always glad to see them get offed in the movie just so I didn't have to suffer through anymore of their dialogue, which usually consisted of two words: "like" and "totally".

But hearing Ashley talk about her home life and her aspirations for the future…. I know she's more than that now. All of them are. They're not movie characters anymore. These people are becoming more and more real to me as this "movie" goes on.

"I'll do what I can," I tell her. "You, um, know much I love weddings."

I expect Ashley to give me a weird look after my wedding comment. How much does she really know about me? Do I share the same likes and dislikes as the role that I'm playing? Or am I completely different from the Rose they all have stored in their memories of before this movie? So far, I seem to live up to their expectations of the Rose they know, so I'm hoping my wedding comment won't strike her as strange.

Thankfully, Ashley smiles. "You never shut up about how much you want a romantic fairy tale wedding. So you better make this one happen, prude."

She gives me a light punch before she goes over to some nearby bushes. I'm grinning as I look down at my feet. It feels nice to have another friend. Kinda makes me wonder if Ashley would have come to my birthday party back in my world if she existed there.

I hear Ashley sniffle, which pulls me from my thoughts.

"Here he is," she announces. I hear her grunt, followed by loud, dragging noises. I look up and stare at Scott's body in stunned silence.

He's been decapitated.

I gag and turn away so that I can throw up into the bushes. I hear Ashley ask what she thinks we can do to help but I barely register her words. Seeing blood through the television screen, especially that fake, gooey blood that horror movies are infamous for, has never made me feel sick. In fact, I've gotten some good laughs out of how fake-looking it is. I mean, come on! Since when does blood look like strawberry pudding? But this is different. This whole situation is different. The blood gushing from Scott still looks surprisingly fake (a questionable slime of bright-red coloring) but Scott Manchester, the guy who was telling scary stories just a little while ago, is _dead _and that's real. He's not coming back. Jason and Camp Crystal Lake may be fictional creations from Victor Miller's brain but somehow, this Jason and this Camp Crystal Lake is utterly existent. If I get killed, it's over. There's no rewind for anyone in this movie, including me. Like the horror movie icons said, they could just find another Good Girl.

What the heck have I gotten myself into?

I turn back to Ashley after I've finished spitting up my breakfast and manage to choke out, "W-We need to get out of here." I can't look at Scott. I just can't. I force my eyes to look only at Ashley, who has tears and snot running down her face.

Ashley shakes her head back and forth and clings tighter to her dead boyfriend. "I'm not leaving Scott!" she yells. "He's everything to me!"

I try to shush her but she won't listen.

"Ashley, please," I beg. "Stay quiet. He's gonna be here. He's gonna… He…."

My head is swirling. Everything I'm saying sounds like some form of alien language, but I keep talking anyway, hoping my words will eventually form some kind of coherent sentence. "Ashley, we've got to go. We have to… _I_ have to…"

"Scott!" Ashley wails. "Wake up, baby! Please wake—"

Before she can finish her sentence, the blade of a machete drives through the top of her skull. Her blue eyes go wide for a moment before the light in them slowly fades away. I can only stare in horror as the blade withdraws from her skull and her body falls on the ground in front of me.

I hear leaves crunching, getting closer and closer to me, but I can't bring my body to snap into action and run. Ashley's lifeless face is still there, etched into my mind's eye. I'm shaking and gasping, trying to get a hold of myself, but the shock of seeing someone has rendered my motor skills useless.

Something huge steps out from the darkness of the trees. In its hands, the being holds a bloodstained machete and Scott's head. Scott's skin color has morphed into a strange, putrid blue. His cracked lips form a permanent scream.

I tear my gaze away from Scott and look up at the standing figure. I take in the murderer's dark hiking boots, his shredded black jacket, and finally, his dirty hockey mask. Jason Voorhees towers over me, waiting for my next move…

…Which would be to run. My body finally snaps out of shock. I let out an earsplitting screech, causing Jason to cover what's left of his ears, before I dash away from him and start heading back towards the cabins.

"_He killed them_!" I hear myself screeching. "_He killed them! Someone, please help me_!"

I hear branches and twigs snapping behind me as Jason follows after me with that threatening, even pace that he has. I glance behind me and see that even though I'm running faster than I've ever ran in any of my P.E. classes, Jason is still right behind me. But I'm starting to pull away from him. I turn back around and focus on running.

I run for at least five minutes before I have to stop. When I say I'm not athletic, I mean it. If I have to keep running from Jason, I might as well give up now because he's going to end up catching me.

After swallowing down some bile, I throw a look over my shoulder, to see if he's caught up with me. To my relief, there's nothing behind me but darkness, trees, and dirt. Jason is nowhere to be found.

I stand with my hands on my knees and my head tilted towards the ground as I struggle to regain control of my breathing. Once I've finally caught my breath, I promptly start laughing, maybe out of relief, maybe because I need some kind of release. My laughter quickly turns into a hysterical mixture of sobbing and chortles as I think of Ashley and Scott. Look at me. I thought I was going to be _such _a big hero. I said I was going to save everyone here, that I'd show Freddy, Chucky, and Ghostface a thing or two. Ha. At this rate, I'm not even going to be able to save myself.

My blood turns to ice at the sound of something cracking right in front of me.

As much as I don't want to raise my head, my eyes betray me. Slowly, I look up. Towering above me like some big, teleporting zombie, stands Jason. His machete is raised above his head, ready to come crashing down against my skull.

Darn it! I forgot another horror movie rule: _If you look behind you after running from the killer and he's _suddenly_ not there, chances are... **H****e's right behind you**! _

"Give me a freakin' _break_!" I scream as I roll to the right, just narrowly escaping being sliced in two.

I huff and puff my way back to the cabin area without once looking behind me. This is where I find Remy and Nathan (who are both now wearing clothes, thank the heavens).

"Rose, you're okay!" Nathan breathes while walking towards me with his arms open. "There's something out there in those woods! Remy and I were just about to head back in and…"

I run right past Nathan and towards the parking lot, where there are five cars parked. At least one of these babies has to belong to my character, right? Right?

"Rose, calm down, babe," Nathan calls from behind me. "What's wrong? I can help!"

Ha, yeah right, buddy. Like I'd trust a guy wearing his boxers on his head. I'm getting the heck out of here and if they're smart, they'll come with me.

I pat myself down, hoping to find a set of keys. Eureka! I find a ring of keys in my back pocket. I pull them out and see that one belongs to a Ford. I scan the lineup of shiny cars and nearly cry when I see a red Mustang parked in the back. I rush over to it, unlock its doors, and jump in. I say a silent prayer, stick the key into the ignition (which takes multiple tries since my hands are shaking so badly), and give it a twist.

It starts up! It really starts up!

"Woohoo!" I cheer, doing a happy dance in my seat. I don't know where I'm going go in this crazy horror movie world, but I know anyplace has got to be better than Camp Crystal Lake. I'll just go pick up Nathan and Remy and we're out of this place.

Now _this _is how a Good Girl survives, Freddy!

I begin backing the car out of the parking space, singing along with the radio. "_Just dance, gonna be okay! Dadadoodoo, just dance_!" I roll down the windows and wave at Nate and Remy who are staring at me like I'm crazy. "Come on, guys!" I shout at them. "We're out of here! We'll call the police, maybe a few exorcists, the FBI, and then the U.S. Army, so they can blow this camp up! Sound good?"

Suddenly, the engine starts sputtering.

"No…. No, no, noooo!" I groan. The engine coughs and dies. The headlights dim. The radio shuts off. My head falls against the steering wheel, causing the horn to blow, long and loud.

I'm doomed.

A dark chuckle floats through the car. I raise my head and find Freddy, in his regular, charred form, sitting in the passenger's seat. I give a yelp and lean away from him. I twist in my seat so that my back is pressed against the car door and I'm facing him.

Freddy wears a pleased grin. "Smart thinking, Rosey-gal," he compliments me. "U.S. Army, nice touch. The exorcists are unnecessary, though. But, unfortunately, I can't allow you to just run away like some sort of intelligent human being. That's not how this thing works."

I gawk at him. "Isn't running away the obvious thing to do?" I yell.

"Obvious, yes. But you driving away isn't giving us any valuable information on how a Good Girl '_survives'_ the movie. You're not surviving; you're being a whiny little snot and running away with your tail tucked between your scrawny legs. We're going to need you to survive by staying here and defeating Jason."

"What? I can't beat that monster! He's twice my size, plus, he has a _machete_!"

Freddy gives an uncaring shrug. "Not really our problem, Rosey-gal. You're going out there to give it your best shot!" He gives me a dark grin. "Remember, if you die, we can always find another girl. Maybe one that's a little easier on the eyes."

I suck in a sharp breath and narrow my eyes at the chuckling beast. I think about Scott and Ashley's dead bodies back in the woods, my family, Jason, and this horrible situation I'm in because of Freddy and his gang of villains. On top of taking away my family's safety and my right to live a normal, care-free life, he _really_ has the nerve to insult my physical appearance by basically calling me ugly? Especially when his face looks like spoiled cottage cheese?

I draw back my fist and punch Freddy as hard as I can in his nose. He howls in pain and holds his now twisted snout and sends me the look of a feral dog that's about to attack. I stand my ground and even manage to work a shaky but satisfied grin onto own my face, matching the one he was wearing earlier.

"There," I say. My voice is quivering and I feel like I'm about to pee myself, but I feel more in control than I've felt in a long time. "At least my nose isn't a broken mess. And, as a side note, you look like a can of Chef Boyardee's so you're hardly one to talk about anyone's looks."

Freddy starts laughing. That ferocious glare he was wearing earlier dulls into a somewhat amused grimace.

"_That's _the sort of spunk we want to see out there! Go, ugly! Go get yourself killed or give Jason one hell of a fight!" Freddy cackles wildly before he vanishes into thin air.

I stare at the empty spot that he was in and laugh once. How crazy has life become that I'm punching Freddy Krueger in the nose and about to face down Jason?

I climb out of the car. My grand escape plan has been foiled and now I'm stuck. Remy and Nathan are still at the cabin area, waving me over. The last thing I want to do is step foot back on the campsite, but I've got no choice. Freddy made it pretty clear that there is no escape from this.

The only way out of the concept world is to defeat Jason.

* * *

**How do you think Rose will survive this movie? What would you do?**

Any thoughts, constructive criticism, or comments are very much appreciated! I'm always looking to improve my writing so if something seems out of whack in this story or you see any way my writing style, the plot, or the characters and their dialogue could be improved, feel free to let me know!

That being said, thank you to every single person who reviewed last chapter! :) Rose would definitely save you all in a scary movie! (Or at least try her darnedest!)

**_Next time in Horribly Good..._**

_As quickly as I can, I scramble to my feet and dash towards the shed doors. _

_"Crap!" I yell as I pull the doors shut right at the same moment that Jason stabs his machete through them. I give a muffled scream and stumble away from the door when Jason yanks his machete back and easily opens the shed._

_His looming figure stands at the entrance, harsh and black against the rest of the forest. I don't know where it's coming from, but I hear Jason's theme song thrumming through the air. I know this is it for me._


End file.
